The Man Who Can't Be Moved
by Ansuzian
Summary: Inspired by the song 'The Man Who Can't Be Moved' by The Script. Edward decides to camp on the curbside for three weeks to chastise himself for breaking up with Bella, hoping she'll come so he can tell her he's sorry. Will she find out? AU,AH.
1. The Man Who Can't Be Moved

**The Man Who Can't Be Moved**

_The Script_

Going back to the corner where I first saw you  
Gonna camp in my sleeping bag, I'm not gonna move  
Got some words on cardboard, got your picture in my hand  
Saying, "If you see this girl, can you tell her where I am?"

Some try to hand me money, they don't understand  
I'm not broke I'm just a broken-hearted man  
I know it makes no sense but what else can I do?  
How can I move on when I'm still in love with you?

'Cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me  
And your heart starts to wonder where on this Earth I could be  
Thinking maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet  
And you'd see me waiting for you on the corner of the street

So I'm not moving, I'm not moving

Policeman said, "Son, you can't stay here"  
I said "There's someone I'm waiting for, if it's a day, a month, a year"  
Gotta stand my ground even if it rains or snows  
If she changes her mind, this is the first place she will go

'Cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me  
And your heart starts to wonder where on this Earth I could be  
Thinkin' maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet  
And you'd see me waiting for you on the corner of the street

So I'm not moving, I'm not moving  
I'm not moving, I'm not moving

People talk about the guy who's waiting on a girl  
There are no holes in his shoes but a big hole in his world

Maybe I'll get famous as the man who can't be moved  
Maybe you won't mean to but you'll see me on the news  
You'll come running to the corner  
'Cause you'll know it's just for you  
I'm the man who can't be moved

I'm the man who can't be moved

'Cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me  
(Find you're missing me)  
And your heart starts to wonder where on this Earth I could be  
(Oh, where on earth I could be?)  
Thinkin' maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet  
(To the place that we'd meet, ohhh)  
And you'd see me waiting for you on the corner of the street  
(On the corner of the street)

So I'm not moving  
('Cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me)  
I'm not moving  
(And your heart starts to wonder where on this Earth I could be)  
I'm not moving  
(Thinkin' maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet)  
I'm not moving  
(And you'd see me waiting for you on the corner of the street)

Going back to the corner where I first saw you  
Gonna camp in my sleeping bag

I'm not gonna move


	2. Twenty one days

**A/N: **This story is based off the song 'The Man Who Can't Be Moved' by The Script.

Please enjoy!

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**Twenty-one days**

September thirteenth, the day of Bella's birthday, Edward decided that he couldn't fucking take it anymore. Blinded by grief and tears, he tore through his apartment and packed the few things he thought he'd need, forgetting quite a few of the essentials in the process, but he would learn to acquire them at a later stage. Now, all that mattered was that he needed to get out, and go back to the one place where he was sure he would find his heart, waiting for him, sitting on the pavement or standing in line for a good strong cup of coffee to get it to work again.

Edward had made mistakes, you see. He had realized only recently that the decisions he had made were mistakes, when he woke up to feel the warmth of sun and sleep on his skin, a heat in his groin but a biting cold at his side, where not too long a go another warmth should have been curled into the crook of his arm.

At first, he had been too caught up in his own mind and had occupied himself with processing the events prior to his break-up with Bella. He had mauled everything over in his mind and had wallowed in self-pity, not for losing Bella, but for other things that had caused him to break up with her in the first place. Only when his best friend, Emmett, had told him to drag his ass out of his apartment and do some proper fucking work in stead of the half-assed brainstorming he'd been doing for his new novel, did he take the time to realize what the consequences were for both him and Bella.

It was when he sat down at the café he frequented, his note pad propped up in front of him, pen at the ready to make notes about the first person coming through the door as a way of warming up, that he was about to realize what he had done.

A couple came walking through the door, smiles on their faces, but the man's was almost malicious and the girl's eyes were scared. Neither smile was sincere. The man held her firmly by her upper arm, probably hurting her in the process. If he squinted, he could see the bruises at her wrists. She went out of her way to move with him in whatever way pleased him, but it was out of fear and not out of love. As he sat there, contemplating in those few seconds what could have brought the man to abuse the girl, he realized that the man was probably venting out some unresolved issues on his girl, too dysfunctional to know of a healthy, harmless way to do the same thing.

He had brought the tip of his pen to the paper, trying to imagine the background story of this man. Probably rejected by his parents at a young age, thus brought up in a hostile environment where he had to fend everyone off with swift, piercing words and snarls, where he had to fight for his demands and where he had to take care of himself because nobody else would do so. Consequentially, he had become unable to accept any kind of help and always felt like he had to fight for his belongings and defended them fervently, probably hurting his possessions more than he protected them.

When he had written this down and read it over once more, he brought his eyes up to the couple again, who had sat down in a booth about midway between the door and where he sat, next to each other rather than opposite of each other. Again, not out of love, but because the man wanted to keep a firm hold on the girl. His greasy, blonde hair brushed her cheek as he leaned in to whisper something. Over his shoulder, the eyes of the girl wandered around the café until they met Edward's and he had felt a painful tug in his chest.

Chocolate brown.

All at once, the memories came flooding back. The many times he'd seen that same colour, though Bella's eyes were a little rounder than this girl's (her outer corners were drooping a bit, he noted mentally), he had felt nothing but joy, happiness and yes, even love. He'd seen them in twilight, in the dark when they were glazed over with lust, in the bright sun when they were sparkling and he'd last seen them when they were glistening with tears.

He was no better than this man, hurting what he valued the most.

When he looked down again, reading over the information he had jotted down about the man, who was now scowling in his direction, he frowned, his mouth hanging open. He hadn't written the background story on the man at all. He had just written his own background story.

He hadn't intended to at all. It was just some cunning trick of his mind and he cursed himself for it. He pushed away the notepad furiously, blinking away tears, taking a big mouthful of the still too hot coffee in front of him, burning his mouth. He welcomed the pain. Anything to distract him from the memories that were threatening to drown him. In a last attempt to stay afloat, he gulped his coffee down in three more gulps, and then he had nothing left to distract him with and his eyes were pulled back to the couple. One deep breath, fighting one last time, closing his eyes tightly but it was in vain. He fell under the waves, and for the time being, felt himself being rocked back and forth violently as the memories ripped through him.

'_I love you.'_

Edward pulled at his hair, messing it up even more than usual. He was a dick. An outright motherfucking bastard who didn't deserve to have a girl like Bella in the first place. He finally had something to hold on to, something to look forward to, something he could like, appreciate, admire and even love, although he hadn't realized it at the time. All he had done was hurt her and push her further away, tearing her down at the moment she had opened up to him and shown her most vulnerable self.

'_I love you.'_

The words ran through his head loud and clear, the soft timbre of her voice doing things to his body like no other voice could. The sultry cooing, the insecurity that rang through her words when she had repeated her statement. They contradicted each other, and yet it was only logical that Bella wanted to show that she could do this, could be the seductive, self-confident woman that, sure, was somewhere inside her. But, Bella was still an insecure little girl when it came to matters of the heart, inexperienced and it was a damn shame that she had to learn from Edward what he had learned long ago.

Love hurts.

_He sat up in bed, throwing the sheets violently of him to her side of the bed and rubbed his eyes furiously, trying to will the words away. No good could ever come from them. All she'd do was take them back if he reciprocated and he was already too fucked up to allow anything like that ever happening to him again._

'_I love you,' she whispered now for the third, tears eminent in her voice._

_Edward sighed deeply and kept his gaze fixed to the wall opposite of them. They were in her apartment, in her bedroom, walls a soft hue of purple and white furniture. Pink cheeks and cream thighs and brown eyes and red mouth and god, why did he have to soil it all with his charred heart?_

'_I'm not capable of love.'_

_His voice was cold as ice, solid like rock and a brick wall to Bella's face. He could hear her shifting, felt her hands on his arms, her lips to his spine, hair that was not his flowing down his back. Her hands squeezed softly, holding on in case he'd move._

'_Yes, you are,' she whispered. She brushed her forehead from one shoulder blade to the other and blew softly down his back. 'You've given me you. You told me everything about you. I know you.'_

_Edward squeezed his eyes shut tightly and his posture went rigid. Earlier that week, they had talked about his past, about how his parents had never been there for him, how it had fucked him up and how scarred he really was. He had never intended to drag her along into his problems, but it had happened and he didn't know how. It had scared him to death that she knew so much about him, knew just where to push him and how to make him say 'yes'. They had been together for six months at that point and he had never cried in her presence. He only did so behind locked doors and god, did he do that frequently._

_That night he had told her, they had sat together on her couch and she had asked him to tell about his parents and fuck, he just vomited it all out. It was freaky, scary and intense, the power that Bella had over him. He was losing control quickly and he nearly had an anxiety attack. He didn't allow himself to cry, but his shoulders had been shaking and when they had gone to bed that night, Bella had been certain to fuck him gently, just like he had needed it at the time._

_In the middle of the night, he had gotten out of bed and written a note, making some half-assed excuse about a jogging meeting with Emmett._

_He never went jogging._

_Bella never said a word._

'_You love me,' Bella concluded, interrupting his reminiscing._

_At this, Edward pulled away from her roughly and stood up, turning around and not caring that he was stark naked. His eyes burned as he spit the poison that lied on his tongue._

'_I don't love you.'_

_And there, Bella's little confidence had been torn down. He was staring now, quite harshly so, at Bella's Ground Zero. The life left her eyes. She could have argued, but she knew that she'd lose. In fact, she knew that she'd lost. He left her with tears streaming down her face and got dressed. He left the apartment without another word, trying to block out the sobbing that came from the bedroom._

Edward went to the bathroom and locked himself into a stall, sitting down on the lidded toilet. There, he allowed the tears to flow freely.

He was no better than the man with the greasy hair. He had made Bella like that scared little girl at the man's side. He might not have bruised her wrists, but he had wounded her heart and soul. And like the couple, no decision he had made had ever been out of love, unlike the decisions Bella made. He had been consumed by his fears, his fear of hurt, his fear of failure, his fear of success and most of all his fear of love and the strong grip it had on him. He feared Bella, too. She had opened herself up to him like he never could to her.

After he cleaned his face from the tears, he left the café, offering the young woman at the man's side a weak smile, earning him another scowl from the man with the greasy blonde hair.

The next week, much to Emmett's dismay, he sat in his room contemplating the events of that day. The more he thought about it, the more he became aware of the terrible mistakes he had made. He admired Bella, envied her and wanted nothing more than for her to grow and become that strong, confident woman he knew she could be. She had showed it when she told him she loved him and though he had declared it an act, he know realized that it was him acting, and not her.

He loved her, and he couldn't deny it.

It was September thirteenth when he finally understood.

He packed his cell phone, dug through his refrigerator and cupboards for some canned foods, packed a sleeping bag, a watch, his wallet, a warm sweater, a rainproof cape, a piece of cardboard, a pen and a picture of Bella he had held on to despite everything. Subconsciously, he must have already known that he couldn't let her go.

He ran from his apartment, barely remembering to lock the door behind him. He ran through the crowds, all the twelve blocks to the one place where he was sure he would find his heart, waiting for him, sitting on the pavement or standing in line for a good strong cup of coffee to get it to work again.

It turned out that going to that one corner of the street was enough to get his heart to work again. It still hurt, there was definitely pain, but he had now found something that he could do passionately. With his heart.

He would make up for his mistakes, in the only way he knew to chastise himself, the only way that turned out to be effective over the years. Asceticism.

When he stopped running, he found himself on the corner of the street where he had first bumped into Bella, spilling her coffee all over her as she had just stepped out of the coffee shop he was standing in front of right now. He was breathing heavily as he dropped his back to the ground and turned around to face the busy street. With a deep sigh, he dropped himself to the pavement, crossed his legs and held his face in his hands while his elbows were propped up on his knees. He sat there for a couple of minutes, trying to decide if he really was going to do this.

'Son, are you alright?'

And elderly man stood next to him, tapping the pavement with his walking cane. Edward looked up, his hair a mess, his emerald eyes a wild disarray. For the first time in three weeks, he broke a smile and answered as truthfully as he could.

'Not really, sir, but I'm taking a step back to look at things.'

The man looked at him with a little frown, then he broke into a grin.

'Good. There are more young men who should do just the same.' He clapped Edward's shoulder twice. 'You'll be alright.'

The words rang true in Edward's ears. In the half minute it took to carry out that conversation, he had decided that he would stand his ground and not move from the spot he was occupying right now. For three weeks, the exact time that he had neglected to realize that he should have reciprocated Bella's feelings [I]and[/I] voiced them, he would sit on the pavement and wait for Bella. He'd camp in his sleeping bag, face rain and wind and snow if necessary, waiting for someone to tell her where he was.

If one day, she woke up, remembering their time together and if by some miracle she was interested to know where he was and how he was doing, this was the first place she would go. She'd see him waiting for her on the corner of the street where they first saw each other.

'Thank you for your concern, sir,' he called after the man, and earned himself another grin. Grinning himself, Edward began to install himself on the pavement. He got out the cardboard and wrote the message he wanted to share on it and set it against his bag. He placed Bella's photograph against the cardboard and put his watch in front of him.

Admiring his work, Edward sat back and began to count. Twenty-one days left.

'If you see this girl, please tell her where I am', said his cardboard sign. With a little frown, he picked the cardboard up again and added a little something.

'So I can tell her I'm sorry'.

A couple of people glanced at the bronze-haired man sitting on the street. Some broke into smiles when they saw his sign, some frowned. Edward paid them no attention. If, after twenty-one days, Bella hadn't found him yet, he would consider his self-inflicted punishment fulfilled and he would go to her himself and apologize for his mistakes.

Until that time, he wasn't moving.

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**Thank you for reading! Please leave a review and tell me what you think.**


	3. Speechstorm

**A/N: **First things first: Twilight and all its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer and are her original creations.

Second: thank you for taking the time to read this! I got a few lovely comments that put a smile to my face.

Third: This chapter is about Bella's development and for the story it's important to know both Bella's and Edward's thoughts. The chapters will mostly alternate between the two.

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**Speechstorm**

'Get the fuck away from me, Alice!' Bella shouted as she clawed at the sheets. It was eight am in the morning and she was trying to escape from Alice's third attempt to get her out of bed. What had occurred between her and Edward hadn't gone over lightly with Alice. The first day that Bella had lied in bed defeated, ignoring her obligations at Alice's boutique, the black-haired pixie paced through the room screaming profanities and devising the most ridiculous plans to get him killed.

From underneath the sheets, Bella had listened to her ranting with tears in her eyes.

Part of her had wanted to agree with Alice. Part of her had wanted to search out the most effective assassin and have Edward's ass properly nuked. Hell, part of her had wanted to do it herself. He'd lashed out at her and left her bleeding when she had decided to give herself to him completely. He had thrown her away like she had no meaning at all.

That first day, however, she had been too incoherent to agree or disagree with anything. She was absolutely shell-shocked. She had known that she would have had her hands full on Edward, that there were some issues they had to work out. She knew that he wasn't an easy man to be with and that he had been through a lot for a man of twenty-nine. She also realized that she had her own problems to deal with and that they were far from the ideal couple.

She had, despite all this, always been under the impression that somehow, if they both gave it their best effort, things would work out for them. It had seemed like he had genuinely tried to open up to her, to work through his issues, and a week before the Dreadful Day he'd even told her about the fucked up family he grew up in, always neglected and ignored.

At that point, Bella had realized that there might be too much of Edward to handle and that he might need more help than she could offer him. Professional help. She didn't dare suggest it, though, not yet. She knew he would have just exploded if she had. He hadn't accepted his past yet, always regarding it as a part that he could detach himself from, like a sweater he could pull off. She thought he was starting to realize that this sweater was his skin.

She thought that he loved her. She was certain that he loved her. She thought that voicing it would help him trust her more. She fucking wanted him to trust her more. She wanted him to know that he could tell her everything and that she would not judge him for it. She wanted him to know that no matter how grave his problems might be, she could deal with it.

She could not fucking deal with it if he wanted to tackle them alone. That would be self-destructive for him.

Essentially, he had done exactly that by telling her he didn't love her.

He had spat the words out, hitting Bella squarely in the chest, making her suck in her breath and hold it for as long as it was possible, to postpone the tears. Eventually, she had to let out that shaky breath and with it, the waterworks came.

Behind his words was so much more meaning that Bella could not begin to understand what he was really trying to say, and she was left confused, but certain of one thing. She had acted too soon and destroyed her chances. She had thought he had needed the little push, but it turned out she pushed him too far. She should have known that she had to let him do it at his own pace, that she should only be there for him as a support, even if he didn't ask for one. He was always too proud to ask for that.

She knew it was pointless for her to argue with him. If they went down that road, she'd only cause herself and Edward so much more pain, though the outcome would be the same. She lost him.

'Bella, seriously, it's been three weeks and you're still a mess!' Alice said, pulling Bella by her ankle. 'It's about time you get your ass into gear and celebrate your fucking birthday with your best friend. I've been lenient on you not coming to work, but I will not tolerate you lying in bed on your twenty-eighth birthday when the sun is shining and there are so many better things to do than lie in bed all day and bawl at the memory of some fucker who's not even worth his weight in dirt, who just doesn't have the balls to be with a confident woman like yourself. Now get dressed, I have a whole day planned for us. Oh my god, did you throw with things again?' Alice paused for a moment in her 'speechstorm', as Bella liked to call it, and picked up the remains of the alarm clock next to Bella's bed.

'No,' Bella grumbled, 'Now get the fuck out.'

Alice tugged the sheets completely off of her in a sudden display of hidden strength and threw the sheets in Bella's laundry bin in the bathroom. Bella heard the tap running and the clicking of heels on the bathroom floor. The sound was muted by the carpet when Alice walked back out.

'Get your fucking ass in the shower, Bella, I did not come here to be cursed at.'

Bella let out a deep sigh and threw Alice a glare as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Alice just grinned triumphantly. Reluctantly, Bella locked herself in the bathroom and stripped. The water was already warm, so she switched the water from the tap to the showerhead and stepped in.

Admittedly, the water cascading down her body felt good. Better than she had expected. She hadn't showered in a week, and last time she had. she had nearly brought down the glass doors when she flung her fists at them in a rage fit.

Needless to say, Bella had a lot of pent up frustration.

Lately, she had started to wonder if she could have done anything different. What she could have done to avoid Edward leaving. What part about this all was her fault? A typical martyr, Bella took all the blame on her. Of course she shouldn't have told him she loved him, she shouldn't have urged him to talk to her, she shouldn't have forced him into doing things he didn't want to simply because she thought they'd be good for him. There were so many little things that she could think of. What if he had been annoyed by the way she always asked him to lock the door behind him, because he always forgot? What if he didn't like it that she used to fry the eggs in butter?

Whether or not this replacement of the angry fits was better or not, was something neither Bella nor Alice decided upon yet. Bella didn't like to feel either of the two, Alice just had a hard time dealing with the doubting Bella. Her self-esteem seemed to have been shattered and it was up to the best friend, of course, to build it up again.

Alice had spent endless afternoons citing Bella affirmations. Telling her what a beautiful, self-confident, strong and independent woman she was, however, didn't have exactly the effect she had hoped for. Sometimes, Bella'd huff and turn over on the bed, facing her with her back, or sometimes, she'd start crying and whispering that she was none of those things.

Bella had gone through her fair share of break-ups, but Alice had never seen her like this. In all honesty, she had seriously contemplated buying a shotgun and hunting Edward down, if she expected it to make any difference. She was, however, convinced that she had to thank Edward for one thing. He had made a clean break. Sudden, quick and Alice hoped that Bella could recover. Right now, it was in Bella's best benefit that she had no link whatsoever with Edward anymore, so that Alice could distract her properly and make her realize that she could do without the motherfucker.

Bella didn't realize that Alice had carefully devised a get-over-Edward-plan, that even included the shower she was taking right now. Alice hoped it would relax her enough to coax her into a little shopping session to make Bella conscious of her femininity again. With more plans like these, Alice wanted to make Bella realize she could feel good without Edward, too.

Bella would have resisted any and all efforts by Alice to get her out of bed had she known this.

Finishing up in the shower, Bella came back in the bedroom with damp hair and nothing but her underwear on her body. Knowing Alice, she already picked an outfit for Bella to wear.

Sure enough, there were a pair of skinny jeans and a plain white v-necked t-shirt. The jeans, though not the most comfortable, were a pleasant surprise for Bella, as she had actually expected Alice to pull out one of the torture dresses she once bought for Bella again, claiming that they 'screamed sensuality' or something.

Just as Bella had shimmied her way into her jeans, thrown the shirt over her head and tied her hair up in a messy bun, Alice came out with the real torture devices.

The red fucking stilettos.

'Alice, no!' she protested, crossing her arms.

'Come on, Bella! Your outfit is too plain to pair with plain shoes, it needs a bit of flash and these shoes are just perfect. Besides, you haven't been that clumsy anymore since a couple of years and I think it's about time that these babies got a little bit of the love you neglected to give them, but which they totally deserve. They are gorgeous and they will make you even prettier than you already are-'

'I'm not pretty, Alice-'

'-and you're not going to complain because I am going to take you shopping for your birthday presents and it's something you will not deny me because frankly, you've been laying in bed for so long that we haven't had any girl quality time in three weeks and I miss you, Bella.'

One of the few times that Alice would voluntarily end a sentence was when she played the guilt card and needed the impact it gave her words.

Bella groaned and looked at the shoes again. 'Shopping in those fucking heels?' She shook her head and finally, with a deep sigh, held out her hand. 'You'll be the death of me.'

Alice all but squealed and thrust the shoes in Bella's open hands while she danced past her, tucking in the label from Bella's t-shirt at the back. Bella rolled her eyes and slipped the shoes in, testing them with a walk to the dresser where she kept her wallet. Slipping it in a black leather shoulder bag Alice held out for her, Bella realized that she'd probably survive the day in these shoes.

'So where are we going?' Bella asked as she shouldered the bag. Alice clapped her hands and did a little jump.

'First, we're going to Starbucks for a proper shot of caffeine-'

'I don't think you'll need any.'

'-and then we're going to see Rosalie for a minute, she has a little gift for you and is desperate to see your face again, you know she has a lot less time on her hands than we do, being a reporter and all that jazz, they're constantly sending her all over the place. Then we're making a stop at the boutique to tell Angela to place the fabric orders and then we're going to Design Street, I spotted this really cute-'

'Alice, stop. Design Street?' Bella's eyes bulged. Design Street was the nickname for the one shopping street in town where all the big designers opened their doors for the rich. She had expected Alice to want to buy her new clothes, but she rarely had a reason to wear the designer wear the devilish girl had in mind. If she worked in the boutique, she usually wore Alice's creations. 'That's way too expensive and you know it.'

'Shut up. Bella, let me and my little black card do the talking,' Alice replied with a roll of her black eyes. Of course. Alice Brandon came from a very wealthy family. They probably had enough money to buy the whole of Design Street. Alice was the odd one out, actually, by opening up her own boutique. It was her way of showing that she could achieve everything and more on her own, to prove that she didn't need the money.

When it came to shopping, however, Alice was happy to be from such a wealthy family. She could afford everything.

Bella glared at Alice. Alice glared back with a look that dared Bella to object again.

Bella knew she'd lost this battle. With a huff, she gave a small nod. That victorious grin spread over Alice's face again. It was quickly turning into Bella's least favorite version of the smug Alice.

'Good! So, after Design Street we're going to get manicures and then we're having a good girl's night again. Rose got the night off, so prepare for an old-fashioned night of chick flicks with a champagne and strawberry dinner. And you, Isabella Marie Swan, are going to enjoy every minute of this day, are we clear?'

'Crystal,' Bella replied with a mock salute.

Alice marched out of Bella's apartment, motioning for her to follow. Bella looked back at her bed longingly once more, feeling almost guilty even thinking of doing other things when she should be laying there, suffering. But then she heard Alice call her name and she bolted out of her apartment, fearing Alice's wrath more.

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**Thank you for reading! Leave a little review?**


	4. Southern Man

**A/N: **Yes, I know. I haven't updated in a month. I didn't abandon the story. I'm very much inspired to write this thing, but sometimes life gets in the way. I'm currently trying to settle in at university and it takes some time to learn where I can find my spare time to write. I'm a very busy girl! But, perhaps to cheer you up, NaNoWriMo is coming up in november and I'm planning to participate: while I'm at it, I might as while write some more for The Man Who Can't Be Moved.

Thanks for your patience!

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**Southern Man**

Edward had no clue what was next to do. Self-reflection seemed appropriate for a self-inflicted chastisement. He felt like a modern-day flagellant, apart from the fact that nobody knew he was punishing himself for the despicable acts he dared pull with Bella. Secretly, he allowed himself to bask a bit in the pride he felt for doing this, for the determination that he so rarely showed. But then, he immediately felt guilty and scowled at no one in particular.

He had been sitting here now for all of twenty minutes and he was thoroughly convinced that whatever difficulties he may encounter, he would face them, chin held high. Like a martyr, holding fast to his beliefs and suffering so that he may be rewarded. Be it with Bella returning to him or finding some much needed peace of minded.

Of course, thinking of martyrs brought him back to thinking about Bella. She had always been the selfless woman who went out of her way for others, who always managed to make others smile when she felt like crying, who deserved a little love but never stopped giving it herself. Edward frowned again as he realized once again how he had trampled on her. The one time she asked for anyone to reciprocate the love she always poured out freely, she got burnt badly. And he was completely to blame for it.

It felt nothing sort of justified that he was sitting here.

Now that he took the time to look back on it all, he couldn't say he had ever given Bella what she deserved. The times she cooked dinner, he never showed his gratitude. When she supported him through his writer's blocks, she would be rewarded with snippy comments and snarls. When she had bought him a present for his birthday, a big board decorated with things that he had said were an inspiration to him, he took a glance at it, kissed her on the mouth and took her to bed, not once commenting on the effort she had put into putting it together.

Never once had she complained about his snippy behaviour or about his ungrateful ways. Not once! It amazed Edward that she hadn't given up on him long ago. He often found himself wondering why she stayed with him, put up with all his crap.

He even wrote himself a letter, trying to put himself in her position, to see what it was that bound her to him.

All that came out was a lengthy declaration, marking him a selfish, confused bastard with serious issues.

He still had the inspirational board, deliberately positioned centrally in his apartment. It was covered with pictures of her, of them. Her deep, expressive eyes and mahogany hair... The strawberries nearly wafted around him if he stared long enough at one particular photo of her tresses falling over her shoulder while she looked back, over that shoulder, into the camera. Edward knew that beneath the frame, she was naked. There was one other photo up from that particular shoot, and it displayed Bella's divine body, splayed out on the crisp white sheets she liked sleeping in. It was hardly pornographic; Bella, self-conscious little woman, had even commented that it was tasteful nude.

Edward remembered taking the picture, trying to capture her post-coital glow. To describe how beautiful a woman looked after a man had slept with her was a feat and a wish he still found unfulfilled. He remembered thinking how the curve of her body invited him to draw her closer to him, to circle his arms around her waist, nuzzle her neck and inhale that glorious smell of post-coital woman. And then, after he had snapped the picture, she looked at him from underneath her dark lashes and he had dropped the camera, scooping her into his arms and claiming her for the second time.

In the middle of the board, he remembered with a wry smile, was a picture of the little café he sat in front of right now, all other pictures arranged around it as if it was the sun around which the other pictures revolved. And frankly, it was. Edward was grateful for the mere existence of this little café because it was where he had met Isabella Marie Swan.

_The sun was mild today, but the sun stood low in the skies and blinded him as he paced down the street. It started to rain. At first it was a light drizzle, but as soon as the wind picked up, it turned into an earnest downpour. He ran into the first store that offered him shelter. It turned out to be a little café._

_He sat down at the bar and ordered himself a coffee, taking out his notepad from out of his pocket and jotted down ideas to elaborate on an idea he'd had for a new novel, but found he was lacking inspiration._

_Edward Anthony Cullen was known for writing two little books that were read widely by a varied audience. The first he ever published was about a young man as he struggled to reach the top in an advertising company. No shit, no dabbling. Just an honest story, served straight up and on the rocks. It was meant to be realistic. After the release, the press hailed him as a promising new author and he was pressured by his agent to write a new novel._

_Edward was not at all as satisfied with his second completed work as he had been with the first one, but he never thought much of it. This time, it had been the story of two women, meeting weekly at a quaint little tea house. At each meeting, the reader learned a little more about the situation the two women were in and it turned out that their lives were far more intertwined that was initially implied._

_It was his authentic approach that charmed the readers, his agent told him. No mindfucking plots, no elaborate descriptions. Honest writing that described things as they were. Nothing more and nothing less._

_He left the café that day with an irrational desire to visit again some time, although he rarely stopped by this part of town. Yet, he promised himself that he would, for once, indulge and swing by whenever he was in the area. He had somehow grown fond of the little café, even though he could not find his inspiration here._

_Little did he know, his inspiration stepped out the door the second he wanted to walk in a month later._

_He bumped right into her and her take away coffee spilled over her crisp white blouse._

"_Ow! Shit, shit, shit.." she cursed. Edward involuntarily smirked, because he would never imagine a voice so sensual and sweet as this one to be utilized for such cussing. When he took a step back to apologize and properly see who the voice belonged to, he saw the prettiest pair of chocolate brown eyes glaring furiously at him._

"_I'm so sorry," he apologized, glancing swiftly up and down her form. White blouse, gray pencil skirt, fuck-me-heels. And a red little belt. Damn._

_She grumbled a little, closed her eyes in irritation and glanced down again. "Yeah, whatever. It's not like it matters now."_

_Edward felt an immediate desire to please her. "Please," he said, "let me at least replace that coffee for you. I should've been looking out for any pretty women I might bump into." He flashed a smile that other women deemed attractive. Sure enough, he saw her gaze soften, and her look turned almost apologetic._

"_Uh... okay," she said, and fumbled with her now empty coffee cup. He reached over, smile firmly in place, took the cup out of her hands, allowing his finger to brush over hers and he threw it in the trash bin next to the door. He opened the door for her and held out his other hand._

"_Edward Cullen," he introduced himself._

_She stepped up, tucked a bit of hair that had sprang free from the loose bun at the back of her head behind her ear and flashed him a smile that made his waver. "Bella Swan."_

_Two months later, he'd cranked out his new novel. About what happened after a chance meeting between a man and a woman. Just something that could have happened to anyone._

Edward smiled at the memory. Bella had always been an inspiration to him. He had never told her, though, and that may have been one of his biggest mistakes to date.

Bella didn't know how much she actually meant to him.

After a while, however, things changed. Shortly after his book was published, they grew more snippy with each other. Or rather, he grew more snippy with her. Thinking back, he couldn't recall how it had happened, but he had started to take Bella for granted and as a result, she wilted away every time he did not acknowledge her for who she was: a wonderful woman that had a power over him no other woman could possess.

It was partly his fear that she could control him that made him push her away, subconsciously. He liked having control of his own life and the things that happened, and Bella proved to be to big of an influence to not at least take consideration of. Edward didn't want to take consideration of anything. He'd preferably breeze through life now that he could, now that all the shit from his past was behind him. He should've known that it was going to catch up with him eventually. Bella wanted to know about his past.

Edward was too afraid that if he bared himself before her in such a way, nothing would stop her from assuming control. That night he told her everything about his family and how he had been neglected, it was his fear that had driven him to tears more than the memories.

There were a lot of unresolved feelings that Edward stashed away in the back of his mind. Bella had a knack for resurfacing them. More often than not, she ended up as the victim when they did. He frequently lashed out at her. Perhaps not physically, but he had hurt her many times. Not once did he touch her, not once did he call her names, but the look in his eyes when she would uncover yet something else that would grant her more power over him, had sent her cowering more than once.

In his fear, he was slowly alienating her from himself, and ultimately, scared her. Fear caused by fear. Edward huffed. Misery likes company, and Edward made sure that Bella became just as miserable as he was.

He had wronged her so many times, and he knew of no appropriate way to apologize to her. Then again, he thought as he stared at the cars passing by, he had three weeks time to think about that.

His phone ringed in front of him. He glanced at it. It was Emmett. He chose to ignore it.

He hoped that she would somehow learn of his presence here. There was so much that he wanted to say and yet he didn't know quite where to begin. A simple apology hardly covered it. But he'd redeem himself in whatever way possible, in whatever way Bella would accept, for he was certain of one thing although he was confused about so many other things. He had been an idiot and he wanted Bella back, if she still wanted him.

He figured that he had enough time to think about his mistakes while he was here. In fact, he might want to jot them down, he thought as he reached for the notebook in his pocket. He stiffened. He left his notebook at home. He looked down the street in the direction of his house despairingly. Three weeks without his notebook? He seriously reconsidered his predicament. It only took seconds for him to remind himself ruthlessly that he was here for a reason and that if he got up now, only to start again an hour later with notebook in hand, he would be cheating.

Edward wanted to do this right, for once. After all the mistakes he made, he would not waver now. His jaw clenched in determination and he crossed his arms like a little child.

His phone distracted him. It ringed again. He chose to ignore it again. He wanted to spend at least the night alone. He needed to get his mind in order and he had to decide what exactly it was that he was going to achieve in three weeks, sitting here alone. He was particularly unprepared, had made his decision on a whim, but he was going to hold on. Come rain, come wind, come snow, come what may, he was going to hold a promise to himself for once. Because if he couldn't promise himself to stay seated for three weeks, and stick to his promise, he reasoned, he could not promise Bella to love her either.

He wanted to write this minor epiphany down, but was once again reminded that he had no notebook on him. He growled in frustration.

"Sir?" a voice to his right said softly. He turned his head and looked up. There was a tall, blond man standing next to him, his eyes trained on Edward's angry form. "Are you alright?"

Edward glanced up at the man. He had a southern drawl to his voice. Probably grew up there. There was a sincerity about his gray eyes that struck a chord in him, and he felt that he would spill the story of his life to this man if he came and sat down with him for a little while. He looked trustworthy, kind, and authentic. Edward liked authentic people. People who dared to be themselves and were true to themselves.

"Yeah," he said, bringing his eyes down again at the pavement in front of him. "Why do you ask?""You looked so bitter," the Southern Man said after a moment of hesitation.

"Well, I'll be stuck here for three weeks without my notebook to jot things down in," Edward spat. "I can't think properly without jotting things down." Not even two hours and he was already complaining, Edward realized, and it did nothing to soothe his annoyance. Some martyr he was going to be.

"Excuse me?" Southern Man spoke. "Why will you be stuck here?"

Edward ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. "Voluntary punishment," he offered. The man sounded too kind to be snarky at. And he had attempted earlier to be honest, too, with the elderly man. Why not now? Continue down the right path.

"For what?" Southern Man crouched down, seemingly genuinely interested in what was going on. Edward looked at the man incredulously, but he just raised an eyebrow in return.

"A girl," Edward started slowly. Southern Man gave an encouraging nod. "I hurt the woman I love, basically."

"So why not apologize?"

"A simple apology won't do. I told her I didn't love her back when she told me she loved me and I walked out on her." Southern Man whistled slowly. "Besides, I'm note sure she'd even want me back if I just showed up at her doorstep. I want to make an effort, you know."

"So you punish yourself in the ultimate ascetic feat. Being confined to one place in stead of going to her because you confined your heart to your body when it belongs to her." Edward raised his eyebrows. "Impressive, man. You don't do things half way. I wouldn't like to be in your shoes right now, but if you can pull it off... It takes some determination."

Edward was quiet for a moment. "You know you're a smart man?"

Southern Man smiled. "No, just perceptive."

Edward smiled in return. He was liking this stranger. "What's your name, Southern Man?"

"Jasper Whitlock," the blond southern answered. Holding out his hand for Edward to shake. "And you are?"

"Edward Cullen."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Edward Cullen," Jasper said as he sat down next to Edward. "So what's your plan?"

Edward shrugged. "I don't know. I'm basically winging it. I brought some food, a sleeping bag and some other things, but I don't think I prepared it all too well." He sighed. "But I'm here now, and I don't want to move. I have to do this."

Jasper nodded, his lips slightly pursed. He looked at Edward's installations and picked up the photo he had displayed. "This is her?" Edward nodded. Jasper fixed his eyes on the photograph. "She's a pretty one. Worth fighting for." He propped the picture back up against the cardboard sign.

"I know," Edward grinned.

"So why here, man?" Jasper motioned at the sidewalk. "What's so special about this place?"

Edward now grinned sheepishly as he motioned to the café behind him. "We met here." Jasper laughed good-heartedly and Edward found himself laughing along. Of course he'd pick the place where it all started, hoping for a full circle. Edward didn't know if Jasper laughed for the same reason, but the act alone lifted his spirits somewhat. The Southern Man was a pleasure to talk to.

"What will you do when she finds you?"

"Apologize, I guess. That's why I want my notebook, I want to write things down."

"I was more talking about what you'll do after that. You said three weeks, right? Will you stick to three weeks, even when she finds you before your time's up?"

Edward shook his head. "I don't know yet."

"Hmm," Jasper hummed, pursing his lips slightly. Then he stood up suddenly and looked down the street. "You said you wanted a notebook, right?" He glanced down to see Edward nod and strode away before he could say anything. Edward sat open-mouthed and tried to make sense of this encounter. Why did Southern Man come talk to him when everyone else rushed by? The older man, he had seen him sink down and had been concerned, the rest of the world just passed him without so much as a second glance. Southern Man had no reason to be concerned for the man sitting on the streets.

Jasper returned quickly, a notebook and pen in his hands. He thrust them both in Edward's hands. "I really hope you get your girl back, Edward," he said. "I have a feeling you deserve it."

Edward shook his head. "I don't deserve her."

"But you're changing that, aren't you?" Jasper looked at Edward pointedly. Edward looked up in surprise. This man seemed to know his motives when he did not.

"You're really smart, you know that?"

"No, just perceptive." Jasper smiled.

"Thank you," Edward said, raising the notebook and pen shortly. He hunched over it to scribble down his thoughts about the encounter with Southern Man just now and what his plans were going to be for the next three weeks. Already his mind stormed with things he wanted to think about, things he needed to apologize for, things about himself that he wanted to change. But before he could jot down more than two words, Jasper spoke.

"I have to go now, Edward. I'm glad I met you." His smile grew significantly. "You're very inspiring." Edward beamed with this compliment. He had never hoped to be anyone's inspiration, in fact, didn't think he deserved it, considering what he did to get himself here. "Come see me in three weeks," Jasper continued, pulling out a business card out of his pocket and handing it to Edward, "and come visit my gallery some time."

Edward glanced down at the business card. "You're an artist?"

"Yep," Jasper responded and stood up straight, stretching himself before turning around and walking away, calling over his shoulder. "And you just gave me a lot of material to work with!"

"See you in three weeks, Southern Man!" Edward called after him, fully intending to visit the gallery when he got away from here. Hopefully it would be with Bella.

* * *

**That's it! Leave a review and tell me what you think! Yes, you lurking readers, that includes you!**


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